The Many
by lionor
Summary: Klingons attack and tragedy is imminent. It's ultimately up to Kirk to weigh the hurts of a few against the fate of the many.


Chekov lay supine, a narrow trail of blood trickling across the floor of the engineering deck. Scotty was unconscious in the other corner, knocked out from the blast. The Russian had gotten the worst of the shrapnel, and Kirk knew as soon as he set on eyes on him that to move him even an inch would kill him. The boy's breath caught on every inhalation, and the sound broke Jim's heart.

"Spock, Bones, get down here, stat. Chekov…doesn't look good, and Scotty's out." Kirk relayed the command automatically, still gazing at the disaster zone that had been just a few hours before a gleaming new instrument panel. The Klingon fire had made almost a direct hit, before Sulu had time to throw up the shields. And of course it was on a rotation week where the Russian whizkid was shadowing. _Damn_, thought Jim. _Damn me for arranging that stupid schedule, and damn the kid for following it to the letter._

Spock stepped of the lift, marching rapidly toward Kirk. "Dr. McCoy is remaining in sickbay to care for all other injured personnel. The needs of the many-"

"Shut it. This is Chekov we're talking about."

"Captain, it is the safety of the entire ship we have to concern ourselves with." But Spock couldn't hide the worry that lurked behind his eyes. "I will examine Lieutenant Scott."

Kirk nodded curtly and picked his way over to the young Russian. "Hello, Keptain," the kid choked out, along with a spatter of blood. "I am sorry to say zat zee…emergency ewasives…were not engaged in time. Eet is an error on my part…" At each pause, a little blood welled between his teeth.

Jim blinked once and kept his eyes closed long enough to gather all the captain-esque calm he could. "You were doing great. I know the new instrument board was only just installed, and you couldn't predict the Klingon warbird. No one could. So lighten up a little, eh kid? Just relax and let me have a look at you." Chekov tried to nod, but succeeded only in coughing, a hoarse, horrible rattle. Kirk tried to smile encouragingly, but the façade slipped when he gazed at the wound. A large chuck of the instrument board impaled the Russian to the floor, and blood oozed out all around. He would inevitably bleed out within hours, but if they picked him up, he'd be gone in minutes.

"Keptain, I know eet's not so good."

"Shut it, kid. You'll be fine."

"I really don't zink zat…is true."

Kirk made no reply, and busied himself with cleaning what bits of the ensign he could without causing further injury.  
"Captain, we have a problem," said Spock, making his way toward Jim while supporting a battered but mostly whole Scotty. "The only way to restore shield power is to access a piece of the instrument board."

Jim narrowed his eyes. "Okay, what's the problem? Do it."

Scotty cleared his throat, eyes damp. "The problem is that it's the part currently…underneath Chekov."

_No_. Jim mentally reeled. The kid would be dead before they could even rush him to sickbay.

"Scotty, you know we can't move him."

"Captain, it's the only way!" Scotty looked down, blinking back tears rapidly.

Spock crouched next to Kirk. "Captain, though Lieutenant Scott is correct, I cannot completely justify moving Ensign Chekov. We have a humanitarian duty to make what are most likely his last hours more comfortable."

Jim looked at Scotty, back at Spock, and glanced briefly at Chekov. His breathing was even more labored, and the blood was everywhere. "I can't just kill the kid, Scotty," he said quietly.  
Chekov spluttered behind them. "Keptain?" His voice was faint. "I could hear everyzing you said and I am grateful for your kindness. But…ze needs of the many…outweigh the needs of the few. And…if you don't move me, ze shields will not be erected and ze entire ship will be wulnerable."

Jim shook his head. "Look, Pavel, it's okay. They won't attack for awhile yet, and you should have a more comfortable…passing." Outside, in the black, an explosion of missiles belayed his words.

But Scotty was shaking his head, tears streaking his face, and Spock was gazing fixedly at the floor.

"You can do it, Keptain," said Chekov, even more quietly than before.

So Kirk, a tear leaking out of his eye despite his best efforts, stooped down and lifted Chekov's shoulders and legs, preparing to pull the ensign's weight from the instrument board column. "You served the Federation well. The Enterprise will never forget the things you have done in her name, and her crew will never forget the good and true friend they had in you." Chekov nodded, smiled and then gritted his teeth. Jim stood, cradling the kid's body. Chekov choked back an anguished cry, and his blood seeped through Jim's uniform.

Bones and Sulu appeared on the deck and rushed toward the little group, Bones frantically searching for something to ease Chekov's pain. Sulu gripped Jim's shoulder. Chekov, face still screwed up in pain, forced a smiled. "Zank you. Good luck, and remember zat I vant the Russian flag on my body." Sulu let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob. "Ze fabric vas inwented in Russia." The crew gathered around Chekov and held his hands as his lifeblood drained away and the light faded from his eyes.

And then they set to work. Scotty made the quick repair on the final functioning piece of the instrument board, despite it being slick with Chekov's blood, and Sulu successfully navigated the Enterprise out of the quadrant, regardless of the tears that threatened to blind him. The many were safe.

_Captain's correspondence_

To Mrs. Chekova

I write to inform you of your son's death. His valor was incontestable, and his passing was comforted by his loyal crewmates. Pavel Andreievich Chekov was one of the best men I have known, and it was a pleasure to serve with him. My deepest condolences, and assurances that his memory will live forever in Starfleet and the Federation.

Signed James T. Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise


End file.
